Grannie escorted me to my room, and examined my hair. I shook it out for
her inspection. It met with her approval in every way. She pronounced it
beautifully fine, silky, and wavy, and the most wonderful head of hair
she had seen out of a picture.

A noise arose somewhere out in the back premises. Grannie went out to
ascertain the cause of it and did not return to me, so I extinguished my
lamp and sat thinking in the glow of the firelight.

For the first time my thoughts reverted to my leave-taking from home. My
father had kissed me with no more warmth than if I had been leaving for
a day only; my mother had kissed me very coldly, saying shortly, "It is
to be hoped, Sybylla, that your behaviour to your grandmother will be an
improvement upon what it has ever been to me." Gertie was the only one
who had felt any sorrow at parting with me, and I knew that she was of
such a disposition that I would be forgotten in a day or two. They would
never miss me, for I had no place in their affections. True, I was an
undutiful child, and deserved none. I possessed no qualities that would
win either their pride or love, but my heart cried out in love for them.

Would Gertie miss me tonight, as I would have missed her had our
positions been reversed? Not she. Would my absence from the noisy
tea-table cause a blank? I feared not.

I thought of poor mother left toiling at home, and my heart grew heavy; I
failed to remember my father's faults, but thought of his great patience
with me in the years agone, and all my old-time love for him renewed
itself. Why, oh, why, would they not love me a little in return!
Certainly I had never striven to be lovable. But see the love some have